All the Right Reasons
by ShigeSato
Summary: Series of Dramione oneshots, each story relating to a different Nickelback hit. Will be continuously adding chapters, there will be 10 when complete. Rated M for language and sexual encounters. R&R!
1. Intro

Hi All :)

I had a thought while driving the other day and decided to put together this little collection. It's Dramione oneshots put to lyrics from Nickelback hits, I have fit the stories to the songs :)

Though not all the songs are from All the Right Reasons, it's my favourite album of theirs and I figured that it works best for the title of the fic.

Hope you enjoy them all, please leave any feedback, positive or constructive, everything except outright flaming is welcomed :)

Thanks!

ShigeSato


	2. SEX

**S.E.X**

_S is for the simple need_

_E is for the ecstasy_

_X is just to mark the spot as that's the one you really want..._

_Sex is always the answer_

_It's never a question as the answer's yes_

_Oh the answer's yes._

_Not just a suggestion_

_If you ask the question then it's always yes._

"Shut up you filthy Mudblood!" Draco was inflamed with rage, his usually pale face growing redder by the second, his lips drawn up in a snarl of fury.

"I'll say what I like _Draco," _Hermione sneered back at him, emphasizing his name with anger.

"You are less than dirt and you will NOT speak about my family in such a fashion!" He tried to stand tall and appear prouder, lifting his chin, but only succeeded in looking haughty. By this time, a large group of students had gathered round them, forming a little arena in the Entrance Hall. They stood in the middle of the circle, feet apart, fists clenched, eyes glaring daggers at each other.

"I'd rather be dirt than be a Death Eater," she announced, crossing her arms.

Draco shouted angrily and, drawing his wand, directed a hex at her. She was quick to deflect it harmlessly onto the floor, and had raised her own wand to perform a counter-curse when quick footsteps sounded behind them, heralding the arrival of Professor McGonagall.

"Wands away!" she ordered, lips pursed into a thin line. "Both of you will report to my office for detention tonight. I intend to make an example of this; it will not do to have students arguing so vehemently in public!"

Hermione shoved her wand back into her robes and, slinging her bag over her shoulder, turned her back on Malfoy and stalked away without a word. Sneering, Malfoy sheathed his wand, too, his eyes on her until she had ascended the stairs to the main castle and disappeared from sight. McGonagall was attempting to disperse the crowd of students that had gathered in the hall, and not wanting to be caught up in the rush, he quickly followed the way Hermione had gone, up the grand staircase and out of range of the Professor's wrath.

Hermione was surprisingly calm after her encounter with her arch-enemy. As they had gotten older and were now in their sixth year, and it was well publicised that Draco Malfoy was now a Death Eater, it seemed that the two of them found themselves in a blazing row every other day. She resented the fact that she had received a detention, but she was well ahead of her studies, and really didn't want to see Ron sticking his tongue down Lavender's throat all night in the common room anyway. Perhaps detention would be good for her.

Besides...every cloud had its silver lining.

She stopped in front of the Room of Requirement, and checking to see if anyone else was watching, slipped inside, shutting the door firmly behind her. She dropped her bag on the floor, and looked up at the door expectantly. Every time they had a row, she would come here. And every time, he would follow.

Sure enough, seconds later the door handle turned once more and Malfoy's pale form slipped through the doorway, casting a locking charm behind him. He turned towards her, anger still evident in his impassioned gaze, but said nothing more to her.

Nothing needed to be said.

He grabbed her arms, pushed her against a wall and pinned her there with his body, kissing her neck feverishly, biting and nipping, wanting to leave marks on her smooth skin. She responded in kind by ripping the front of his robes apart, tearing the fabric as the heavy garment fell from his shoulders. He grunted, kicking it aside, moving his mouth from her neck to her lips.

Their kiss was passionate, but filled with lust and anger. His lips were crushed to hers, trying to devour her, battle her into submission. She would not give in, taking his bottom lip between her teeth and biting it hard. He groaned, pushing her further into the wall so her body was wrapped around his, and deepened the kiss, his tongue aggressively shoving its way into her mouth. She could taste blood and knew it was his.

His hands reached up to her school blouse, roughly handling her breasts through the fabric. She moaned at the feeling, and he pinched her nipples, twisting them harshly in a way he knew turned her on. She could handle it no longer and, breaking the kiss for a moment, leaving him to suck at her neck in an obvious attempt to leave a lovebite and embarrass her the next day, pulled his jumper and shirt over his head, throwing them to the floor.

He responded in kind, and her bra joined the pile of clothes accumulating at their feet. Their naked chests rubbed against each other as they kissed once more, heatedly, throwing all their energy and emotion for each other into the act, blazing hate transformed into burning passion. He lifted her legs up, roughly shifting her skirt up past her hips, and wrapped her lower half around himself. Her body began to move with his as she felt his growing hardness through his trousers.

Moving her white, girlish knickers aside, his fingers found their prize and swiftly ran up and down her slit, eliciting soft moans from her as she squirmed against him. Without waiting to ready her, he plunged two fingers straight inside her tight hole, twisting them around, finding that spot inside her she loved so much. She grimaced at the entrance but was overtaken with pleasure once he found it, that amazing pleasurable place those same fingers had found countless times before.

His mouth descended onto her breast, tongue swiping over her erect nipple, biting it and worrying it with his teeth as his fingers worked her passage. She cried out in pleasure, grinding herself against his hand, feeling her climax building up inside. Grinning evilly as he knew she was close, he withdrew his fingers and stepped backwards, placing her on her own two feet before him, and pulled down his trousers to expose the tent in his boxers.

She glared at him, knowing what he wanted, but knowing that if she refused, she would not get the climax she needed so desperately and their secret 'sessions' would be over. She ripped down his boxers, not caring to be sensitive, and knelt in front of him. He braced himself against the wall, palms flat on the cold stone, and closed his eyes expectantly.

She didn't do anything for a while, and feeling nothing, he growled and began to say, "Get the hell on with it, Gran-uuuughhhh," he broke off into a throaty moan as she took his whole dick into her mouth and began sucking vigorously without warning. Her teeth grazed the sensitive skin and he thrust his hips, the slight pain only intensifying his experience. She knew he liked it that way.

It only took a few minutes of her ministrations, tongue, throat and teeth all working to pleasure him, until he began to thrust erratically and she knew it was about time to stop. His growl of displeasure as she removed herself from his cock only turned her on more, the deep and masculine ring of the sound resonating in her body.

He grabbed her and pulled her over to a threadbare chair in the corner, seating himself firmly upon it and positioning her over his manhood. She didn't hesitate, straddling him and lowering herself onto his gorgeous length, pleasure encapsulating her as the familiar warmth filled her to the brim. He did not wait for her to adjust but began thrusting roughly, hard, forcing her to ride him.

She was used to this treatment and did not object, matching him thrust for thrust her hips rolling back and forth, her breasts bouncing. He took one of them in his mouth again, teasing her nipple with his teeth, biting down on them as his hands gripped her buttocks, perfect Malfoy nails digging into her skin. In turn her nails raked over his back, intensifying the experience for them both, as she rode his member for all it was worth.

He never made much noise. When it was time, she knew, by a stiffening of the hips, a few erratic thrusts and one glorious, throaty growl, which vibrated through her as he came. In turn, she felt herself climax, her walls clenching around him and milking the seed from his balls. As soon as she was down from her high, she climbed off him, and began searching for her clothes without a word.

He, too, eased himself up off the chair, magically cleaning the fluids from his cock, and got dressed. He gave her a look before he left – a look that said more than he had ever expressed to her in words. It was a look of thanks, of lust, of anger, of passion and of hate. She could read the emotions in his eyes like one of her beloved books, and it almost made her hurl that she knew him so well. This was supposed to be stress relief, nothing more. A way to blow off steam from their arguments. There was never going to be anything emotionally between them – she hoped not, anyway. As a person, he was simply intolerable. As a de-stressing method – he was damn well perfect.

He turned swiftly on his heel and departed. She grinned after him, straightening her hair. After that performance, it would be a shame to have to return to the common room and sit inanely with Harry and Ginny as Ron made out with Lavender. She had to pretend like she cared, even though she didn't; she had bigger things to think about than Ronald Weasley and his whore.

At least she had detention with Malfoy to look forward to. No doubt they'd fight again. With that thought settled in her mind, she smiled in anticipation, and departed for Gryffindor Tower.


	3. Savin' Me

**Savin' Me**

_I'm terrified of these four walls_

_These iron bars can't hold my soul and_

_All I need is you – come, please, I'm calling..._

_And oh, I scream for you – hurry, I'm falling..._

_Show me what it's like to be the last one standing_

_Teach me wrong from right and I'll show you what I can be_

_Say it for me, say it to me, and I'll leave this life behind me_

_Say it if it's worth savin' me._

It was night. Screams echoed through the air, flashes of coloured light ripping through the movement and thud of falling bodies. An explosion sounded through the trees and a man's terrified yell echoed across the battle, as a masked and cloaked Death Eater burst from cover and ran in retreat. Another resounding thud was heard as his motionless body fell to a Stupefy.

Draco looked around in terror. He had never wanted to be a part of this fight; he had protested, and told his father he was not trained enough, yet. He wasn't ready. Truth is, he knew he would never be ready; he knew he would never be able to face _killing_. The thought made him shudder. And yet here he was, fighting for the Dark Lord against his former schoolmates and precious Hero Potter.

Well, he used the word 'fighting' operatively. He hadn't been in the thick of it yet; he hadn't dared.

The tide of battle was clearly turning against the Death Eaters. They were fleeing, retreating, the wards around Hogwarts preventing them from Apparating away. He crept back against the tree which was his shelter, closing his eyes and wishing the sounds and smells of battle would all fade away around him.

"Malfoy?" a surprised voice sounded near him, and his eyes snapped open to see a familiar bushy-haired witch standing before him, wand drawn warily.

"Granger," he sneered, trying as hard as he could to keep the fear from his voice, masking it with the derogatory tone he reserved just for her.

"Why are you out here?" her voice had hardened now, her wand raised.

"I don't have to explain myself to a Mudblood," he replied, trying to make it sound like he meant it. He couldn't tell her the truth. She'd think him a coward.

"You're not worth my time, Malfoy," she scoffed. "Get out of the way."

He couldn't move. If he moved, she'd think he was weak. She'd think she controlled him. He didn't think he could bear that on top of everything else; Hermione Granger one-upping him. They had always sparred, verbally and even physically that one time in third year. He couldn't stand the idea of her thinking she had beaten him – of her thinking he was a coward.

"Move, Malfoy, don't make this difficult for me!"

"Make me, Granger," he replied, and closed his eyes awaiting a hex.

Instead he felt a soft hand push him aside. "You're not worth it," she said. "You're just as much a victim in this as we are. Just get out while you can – and don't run into any of the Aurors. They won't be as generous as me."

"What do you care?" he spluttered, desperate to keep her there, to keep her talking. He didn't want to be alone again in this cacophony of death and terror.

"I don't." With that, she was gone, back into the fray.

Draco shrank back against the tree. For some reason, those words pierced his cold Slytherin heart. He knew she didn't like him, not in the least – but it was Granger. She cared about damn house-elves' freedom, for Merlin's sake, but she didn't care about whether he lived or died? That hurt. It hurt more than it should have.

He looked back at the direction she had disappeared in. He didn't blame her, not in the least – having been a part of the war, of something bigger than himself, and something so horrific and truly evil, he had come to realise that all of his previously held notions about being a Malfoy and a pureblood were utter bollocks. He had seen terrible things, and they frightened him. He wasn't born to be a Death Eater, he didn't have it in him. He had had no right to act like such a prat when he was younger, and now, looking back, he saw his actions as they must have seen them at the time and inwardly groaned. No, he didn't blame her at all.

Sighing, he fell to the bottom of the tree, curling up on the roots, and cried. He was angry at himself – Malfoys didn't cry – but he couldn't help it. It was the stress, and the fear of the last few weeks pouring out. Anger for being forced into this situation against his will. Hatred for Voldemort and his father for expecting too much. Frustration that he couldn't change anything, that there was no way out. Terror at the idea of what would happen to him when he was found by either side. Anxiety for his future. Sadness, for those who had died and all those who were still to die for useless, petty causes that he had once championed in his arrogance and naivety. And regret. Regret for every deed, every insult and every goddamned choice he couldn't ever take back.

When the tears had finally run dry, he was exhausted, and drifted in and out of sleep, his dreams haunted by images of the Dark Lord and his followers, looming over him, and Potter and the Aurors chasing him, never relenting. He ran and ran, and collapsed, and he saw a figure offering him its hand. He took it, and as he stood up he caught a glimpse of brown bushy hair and that smile he'd always noticed, but which was never aimed at him. God, how he wished it had been for him.

He awoke suddenly. It was still dark, and the sounds of battle had faded away. Embarrassed at himself for crawling in the dirt, he scrambled up and smoothed down his robes, wiping his face clean. He knew he couldn't stay there forever. If he was found by the Death Eaters he was as good as dead – the Malfoy name wouldn't protect him, not now he had abandoned them in the thick of battle. And as for the Aurors, he shuddered to think what they would do.

He only had one option. It was a slim chance, but he had to hope. Perhaps...

It took him a while to find her. She was camped out in the grounds with the rest of the defenders, but the tents covered the whole Quidditch pitch, and it was impossible to know which were inhabited by Ministry members who would arrest him instantly. He didn't have an Invisibility Cloak like Potter. Eventually, though, he located a large tent on the western edge of the camp, and heard female voices from inside it. Edging closer, he identified them as Granger and Weaselette.

"He just looked so scared, Gin," Granger was saying. "I couldn't bring him in."

"Why not? It's only the ferret," Weaselette replied in a haughty tone. "He's not worth shit."

"I know," Granger muttered so low Draco almost didn't hear. "But it's not his fault he ended up on the wrong side. You didn't see his face. Inside, he's just a scared little boy who wants a way out. I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if I'd handed him over."

"You've got too much of a conscience," the redhead laughed. "I'd have hexed him and got my reward without a moment's notice!"

"That's because you're a Weasley," Granger replied, and they both chuckled. "Anyway, I'm going to bed now; it's late and we'll have to start rebuilding tomorrow."

"Sure." Draco heard movement and shrank away behind the tent as Ginny Weasley emerged from the entrance. She waved to Granger. "Night, Hermione."

"Night, Gin."

The Weasley girl turned and walked away, threading back through the camp to her own tent, he supposed. He sneered. Though some part of his mind told him that he had been just as callous before the war, he wanted to judge her for being so close-minded. Even though it made him a damn hypocrite.

Sighing, he sneaked round to the front of the tent and pushed his way inside before anyone saw him. He held his hands up immediately to show there was no wand, and no reason to fear him, but Granger wasn't even there. She had obviously gone into the bathroom to get ready for bed. He took a seat on her sofa and waited.

Five minutes later, she emerged from the bathroom in her pyjamas and stifled a shriek. He quickly held up a finger to his lips. She nodded and, grabbing her wand, cast a Muffliato charm on the entrance to the tent, sealing it up and making it soundproof to all outside.

"Malfoy!" she shouted. "What are you doing here? You could have got yourself killed!"

"I know," he replied. "I'm not thick. Do you think I would have come here if I had a choice?"

"If you're going to be rude you can get the hell out right now. I mean it," she said dangerously. "Any Mudbloods, any bookworms, any other Malfoy-ish insults and I swear on Merlin's beard I will hand you over without a moment's remorse."

And he believed her.

"Now, what do you want?" she asked, hands on hips.

"I..." words failed him, and he sank his head into his hands. "I don't know." She still stood there unmoving, so he tried to explain himself. "You didn't kill me," he said lamely.

Cautiously, she sat down next to him in the most comforting way possible. She didn't reach out to him, but he didn't see why she would, considering his past behaviour towards her. She wasn't to know that what he wanted most of all was her arms around him, letting him know she was there. That she was his. When he had tormented her for seven years, how was she to know?

"I heard you talking to Weas– Ginny," he said, still not looking up.

"Then you know I won't hand you over. Yet," she said with a hint of jest.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said, taking his hands from his face and looking straight at her, making sure to use her name. He wasn't sure what he wanted, yet, or how to get out of this predicament, or even how she could help him, but he felt that this, at least, needed to be said. "I was such a twat. Seriously. For every time I insulted your hair, or your friends, or your blood status – I'm so sorry."

"Apology accepted, Draco," she said simply, his first name rolling off her tongue as if she had been saying it all her life. There was no particular surprise or emotion in her voice.

"I thought I had it all. I was just a stupid kid, and I didn't know any better. How could I, when I was trained from birth to know Malfoys are superior, and Muggleborns are dirt? It was only natural I had to live up to that. It was all I knew." He desperately jumbled the words together, trying to get them out, trying to make her understand. "I was just so naïve. And when the Dark Lord came along, and my father was so forceful, and I didn't know how to say no. And now I'm here, and I've been through this damn war and I just feel sick-" he broke off, unable to continue.

"I know," Hermione replied. "I feel it too. The stench of death is everywhere, and when you think about those who have died for no reason...I just close myself off to it all. If I let myself think too much, I know I'll just go mad."

Draco sighed. "At least you're on the right side."

"There are no right sides or wrong sides. There are two sides, and they both kill and injure and main without remorse. One of them will emerge victorious, but really, in war, nobody wins."

"That's what's made me see differently," Draco said slowly. "I saw them murder Muggleborns. Your blood is as red as ours. We're all the same – and I know that now. I can't fight for them, for a cause I can't bring myself to believe in."

"So what are you going to do?" she asked.

Suddenly, he realised what he had come here to ask. He realised what he wanted. "I want to fight for you."

"Fight for us," she repeated with a note of surprise. "I – I suppose you could, although after what happened with Dumbledore..."

"I would never have done it," Draco interjected. She looked over at him, her eyes betraying that she had already known that fact to begin with. For some reason, she could see into his soul. Ordinarily, that would have angered him, but right now he needed a friend, and if she trusted him then all the better. He was as good as dead without her.

"McGonagall doesn't see it that way," Hermione replied, running a hand through her hair.

"I don't want to be this!" Draco shouted, gripping his hair in frustration. "I don't want to be a Malfoy, and carry the burdens associated with that name. I don't want to be a follower or a Death Eater or anything else. I don't want the Dark Mark on my arm reminding me every day that I'm weak. But please, if you think I'm worth anything at all, help me, Hermione. Help me be a better person and try to make up for the things I've done."

"I'll do it," she said with a note of conviction in her voice. "Not because I owe you anything, but because I can see you want to change. And I can't bring myself to turn away someone who's so dependent on my help, it's not in my nature."

"Thank you," Draco said quietly and sincerely.

Neither of them said anything else for a while, both mulling over their own thoughts. "So why me?" Hermione finally asked.

"You didn't hex me. I figured you might at least hear me out."

"Not tonight. Back then. There were plenty of Muggleborns in the school. Why did you choose to make my life a living hell and not theirs?" she asked inquisitively.

"Number of things, really," Draco said, musing, feeling she deserved an honest answer. "You were best friends with Potter...you beat my grades every year...I suppose you challenged everything I was told about Mud- Muggleborns," he said, correcting himself quickly. "I was told your kind didn't deserve to study magic, and you were weak and useless and dirty. But I didn't see any of that in you. You're smart, and powerful, and beautiful."

"Nobody's ever called me beautiful before," Hermione responded, looking at him quizzically.

"Then they should start," Draco answered. "All the Slytherins thought you were the best-looking girl in Hogwarts. We just couldn't do anything about it – we were supposed to hate you. I suppose that's another reason I tormented you. I wanted you to notice me, to feel something for me, even if it was only hatred; at least you would know who I was."

"In a twisted, creepy way, that's really romantic, Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I could have done without it though."

"I'm sorry," he repeated, and she smiled.

"I forgive you."

There was silence again for a while.

"I'm going to bed," she announced. "You can sleep here. I'll talk to McGonagall and Kingsley in the morning and tell them about you, if you want me to. We can start on building their trust."

"Thank you, Hermione," Draco said again. "I won't let you down."

"I know you won't," she said, leaning down and giving him a light kiss on the cheek. "That's why you were worth saving."

_Heaven's gates won't open up for me_

_With these broken wings I'm falling_

_And oh, I scream for you..._

_Show me what it's like to be the last one standing_

_Teach me wrong from right and I'll show you what I can be_

_Say it for me, say it to me and I'll leave this life behind me_

_Say it if it's worth savin' me._


End file.
